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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26935315">Sunflowers And Daisies</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agib/pseuds/Agib'>Agib</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandsupernovae/pseuds/starsandsupernovae'>starsandsupernovae</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020 [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Criminal Minds (US TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Boys In Love, Denial of Feelings, Falling In Love, Hanahaki Disease, Idiots in Love, M/M, That Is Requited ; ), Unrequited Love, Whump</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:20:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,503</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26935315</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agib/pseuds/Agib, https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandsupernovae/pseuds/starsandsupernovae</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is, without question, unfailingly in love with Doctor Spencer Reid.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020 [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1945771</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>240</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Internal Bleeding</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>&lt;3 for my Beta, Em, and her Ao3: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/rxseinbloom/pseuds/rxseinbloom/works">rxseinbloom</a><br/>And her gorgeous tumblr: <a href="https://rxseinbloom.tumblr.com/">@rxseinbloom</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Hanahaki</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Noun</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>花吐き病</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> (Japanese); </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>하나하키병</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> (Korean); </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>花吐病 </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>(Chinese)</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> <em><span>A medical phenomenon in which a victim of unrequited love begins to cough up the petals and flowers of a budding plant growing in their lungs. The plant may eventually grow large enough to render breathing impossible if left untreated.</span></em></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>This may last for two weeks to - in rare cases - eighteen months.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hanahaki can be cured through surgical removal of the plants' roots, but this excision also has the effect of removing the patient's capacity for romantic love. It may also erase the patient’s feelings for and memories of the enamoured. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It can also be cured by the reciprocation of the victim's feelings. These feelings cannot be feelings of friendship but must be feelings of genuine love. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The victim may also develop Hanahaki Disease if they believe the love to be one-sided but once the enamoured returns the feelings, they will be cured.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Even after curing, with or without surgery, there may be irreversible damage to the lungs and, although very rare, in some cases the disease cannot be cured.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>----</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek wakes with the lingering impression of good dreams. He has the slightest inclination of warmth and </span>
  <em>
    <span>closeness</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but as soon as he pulls the bedsheets back, they’re gone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a cold morning, and unluckily enough for him, the jersey he often wears on days like this is being borrowed right now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spencer had spilled coffee on one of his sweaters last week, and the vestige of his insistent shivering must have inspired Derek to give his own jacket up, if only to hush the clattering of teeth that came from the kid’s work space.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t regret it, despite the chilly bite in the air, though he does think a tea would be a good idea to warm him up. There’s a scratch at the back of his throat and deep in his chest that’s painful when he swallows. He assumes it was all the yelling he did at the TV last night during the game, now his voice is hoarse and almost gone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He coughs while he’s boiling the jug, and the pain in his chest starts to throb. He waits for the tea to cool while he showers, still touching the base of his neck and column of his throat as the tickle grows to an itch, which forms a bubble of hot, tight discomfort on each inhale.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before he turns off the handle, he coughs again, but this time something sticks in his throat. He gags, swears quietly and coughs again, hard, until whatever is in his throat comes up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thinks it’s phlegm, or potentially dried blood from the bloody nose he’d gotten three days ago thanks to a poorly apprehended suspect.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead it’s bright yellow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He freezes, the water still hitting his back as the pure, yellow petal circles the drain. A spot or two of wet blood sticks to it and turns the water a brown, copper tint. He blinks, and it’s caught in the drainage pipe before being pushed down by the weight of the shower stream before he knows it, as if it hadn’t even been there in the first place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek rolls his jaw and turns the water off as if he hadn’t seen it.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>----</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite himself, as he runs through his usual routine at the office, he finds his mind drifting to each of the women he’d met in the last few months. None of them had been </span>
  <em>
    <span>particularly </span>
  </em>
  <span>spectacular. A good time and a fun, stress relieving night, yes, but not overly romantic in any way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He continues several days without incident, so much that he thinks the petal was isolated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On Thursday at lunch he has to excuse himself from his desk, throwing a lazy gesture of ‘give me a minute’ in Emily’s direction as she pauses halfway through her sentence to watch him hacking and coughing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gets four more petals, one of which is attached to a green section of some kind of leaf or stem. This time, blood covers the inside of his fist as well as the mottled, yellow flowers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tells himself it must be a mistake, but he still seeks out Penelope for her advice considering </span>
  <em>
    <span>he’s not in love with anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you mean?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I’m coughing up petals, Pen. What the hell am I supposed to do?” He asks incredulously. He can hear the nerves in his voice, can almost imagine he hears the flowers rattling around inside his lungs too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell them you love them,” she says plainly, as if it were the most simple option in the world.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>in love</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” He snaps, regrettably.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two go back and forth in circles, and it takes five minutes to convince Penelope that he doesn’t know who he’s harbouring unrequited love for.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who’ve you slept with in the past month?” Penelope asks with no regard for privacy, though this isn’t exactly a situation that would benefit much from it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You want a list?” He jokes. He earns himself a smack on the arm with a paper writing pad. He appreciates the gesture, but only writes the truth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>four </span>
  </em>
  <span>names on here and none of them spark any kind of desire?” She asks, a hint of sarcasm in her tone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nope,” he responds, popping the ‘p’ in his sentence. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, they were great girls, just not ones I’d fall in love with like </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he points out, gesturing to his chest and throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How many petals are there? Have you been coughing up whole flowers?” She asks seriously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Five in total and no, not whole flowers.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What flowers are they?” Penelope says. Her head is tilted gently to the side, looking at him inquisitively as if he were a puzzle to construct.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know, yellow ones, with annoyingly large petals,” he shrugs. In his mind it doesn’t really matter what he’s coughing up, it matters that he’s probably got half a bloody garden growing in his lungs right about now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well it might be best to figure it out, there are three things your flower could mean,” she explains. “There’s the etymological meaning, or it could be your unrequited lover’s favourite flower or even colour.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why do you know so much about this?” He questions.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you know how many friends of mine almost died from this in high school? It’s serious, Derek. Don’t take it lightly,” she presses. “You need to figure this out, and I’ll be damned if I’m not helping.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine, let’s try this then,” he sighs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Make a list of people you’re close to,” she says, jumping into the action. “Doesn’t matter if you’re in love with them or not, just who you care about. Get back to me this afternoon, I’m staying the night.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right, well the fact that you’re even allowed to demand to stay the night puts you at the top of my list,” he says, pressing a kiss to her temple.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He strains himself with the list. Aside from the team and a few close acquaintances outside of work, there’s not many people he cares about enough to put them on the list. He was popular in high school and has a few lingering college friends, but not much more than that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hopes someone on the list pulls through as someone he - surprisingly enough - loves like this, because by the time they’re going home for the day, he’s coughed up a large enough fragment that he can identify the flower growing internally.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>----</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Adoration, loyalty and longevity,” Penelope reads from her PC. “That’s what sunflowers mean.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek sighs, rubbing at his throat. The itching is always there now, it hadn’t faded after work as it had been for the past few days.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, what, I adore someone? I’m loyal?” He groans, coughing again and choking when another speck of yellow slides up into his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope watches him with concern  as he chokes up another few petals into a tissue and throws it across the room, next to the kitchen bin. “I’m loyal to everyone I work with,” he says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course you are, pretty sure that’s part of your literal job description. I mean someone you care explicitly about,” Penelope explains.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, all of you,” he sighs. “We’re just going in circles here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me about the team,” Penelope orders. “How do you feel about us?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pen, I don’t know, I love you all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, one by one. I’m serious, you’re only going to get worse. Now speak!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>----</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Emily is amazing. I was honestly a little worried she’d struggle to fit into place at first but she slid right in. She’s great to work with in the field, she’s probably a better shot than me, but don’t tell her that </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’ll get to her head and I’ll never live it down.” Derek shakes his head fondly, looking towards the ceiling as if trying to stop himself from chuckling while Penelope sits, chewing her thumb nails nervously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You already know how I feel about you, gorgeous,” he winks. Penelope lightens up slightly, waving her hand to swish his compliment away with a giggle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t be coy, back to it,” she laughs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“JJ is a great friend to me. She’s been there since the start, and although we argue sometimes it’s always over something petty. She’s like a younger sister. We kinda hate each other but not really.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, that’s a no then,” Penelope muttered, miming a cross-off of an imaginary list. “Lady at the front desk?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ugh, no way. Her perfume gives me a headache and she won’t stop calling me Daryl,” Derek complains.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, now Hotch, Reid and Rossi,” she says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not gay,” Derek deadpans, sounding put off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, we’re only crossing off certainties and the only one I’ve heard so far is that you see JJ as a little sister,” Penelope accuses.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine then, Rossi is an actual grandad, Hotch is the whole team’s Dad and Spence is - he’s different.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She fakes two more crosses before leaning forward in her chair interestedly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Different, or </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she asks. Her eyebrows wiggle in question and Derek exhales before coughing again, violently this time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He swears, feeling something tearing up the lining of his esophagus as he chokes it up like it’s a ball of sewing needles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, definitely sunflowers,” he manages, holding out the bloodied clump of faded yellow petals and dark black seeds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus, Derek,” Penelope says, grabbing his wrist to examine the contents. “You need to figure this out,” she warns. “You’re progressing too fast, that’s not a good sign.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her cheeks are red and splotchy, and Derek has worked with her for long enough to know that it means she’s upset and exposed to something violent, stressful or upsetting. He feels horrid for making her experience this alongside him, but he honestly had no other clue as to what he needed to do other than let the disease fester away and destroy him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was the only one he trusted with this, and he would do what it took to solve the issue, even if it meant surgery when - or if - they couldn’t figure it out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is Spencer to you, what am I? What’s the woman at the coffee shop, or the victim you last consoled on your case?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek trashes the handful and sits back down, tapping his chest as though he could manage to pat the floral arrangement growing inside him into unexistance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Spencer is… he’s vulnerable, and he needs someone there to look out for him. He’s my best friend, Pen. I couldn’t love him, but I can never understand why he can’t find himself a girlfriend. He’s attractive in a conventional sense, and he might be, um, unaware at times but he’s pure-hearted and genuinely only does things for the betterment of others.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope presses her lips in a line, obviously waiting for more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s a genius and he doesn’t aim to show that off as much as it sometimes feels like it. He’s just so passionate about everything he rambles about, he gets this glint in his eyes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>God </span>
  </em>
  <span>- his </span>
  <em>
    <span>eyes </span>
  </em>
  <span>- and this twitch in his hands while he talks. He can make the most mundane, useless subjects interesting with the way he rushes through like someone’s going to shut him up. Which, we do, sometimes.” He screws his forehead up in regret, looking upset as though he had worked out why Spencer rushes as he speaks only now, in this moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like I said, genius, but the way he goes about things is never… annoying, like it should be. He could walk past my desk and tell me I spelled ‘contractual’ wrong and I’d thank him for it. He calls at odd hours and starts talking so fast it’s like he can’t keep up with his own thoughts. He tells me these amazing things and doesn’t even stop to think that it’s three in the morning, but I just - I never </span>
  <em>
    <span>care </span>
  </em>
  <span>that it is. He makes things enjoyable.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope sighs, reaches out to touch his cheeks and looks at him in passive bewilderment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh honey,” she says softly. “I think we’ve got our answer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>----</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They fight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a whole hour.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek’s underlying point is that he’s not gay, and Spencer’s too young for him, regardless of feelings.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope’s is the way he spoke of him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s vulnerable, pure-hearted, only does things for others. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Derek’s voice was so gentle and sweet as he spoke of Spencer, and his emotional response was too far out the gates to justify any claim of heterosexuality or the six years that divided them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Derek, stop, please. You’re in </span>
  <em>
    <span>love, </span>
  </em>
  <span>six-pack. Stop with all this denial and anger. It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>okay</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope would joke about compatibility, and keep an extra eye on the tender affection so easily dished out to and for each other, but she never stopped to think things could be real for the two of them. Now that she had, however, it was plain as day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everything Derek had said about Spencer was true. He was kind and selfless in so many ways, and it translated to his soft-spoken lack of ability to express his own emotions. Of course he would’ve been able to hide it from Derek ‘oblivious’ Morgan, he was too repressed for his own good.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It takes an armful of placation for Derek to be eased back down into a comfortable state. He’s been cracked open like a walnut, if Penelope had to assign a simile to the conversation. She talked him through his ‘straight’ behaviours and promised him there was nothing wrong with being able to note attraction towards other men.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just always thought it was, y’know, observing what people looked like and noticing they were conventionally attractive.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There is that, but honey, what you’re describing is a bit more than that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek sits quietly for several long moments, clutching at his box of tissues and staring into his creamy carpeted floors like they held all the answers he needed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How often do you think about him, honestly,” Penelope asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All the time,” he says quietly, resolutely. “But I thought… I don’t know, I figured it was just me worrying about him coping outside of a work environment.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had definitely noticed that one before, any time they went out for lunch the two of them took the same side of a booth, Derek would refuse to order him coffee unless it was coming with a meal. They argued over who was paying relentlessly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At clubs, Derek was hitting on women but also worriedly glancing about until he found Spencer sitting at a table with the group, happily - if not somewhat awkwardly - participating in drinking games.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two were close, yes, but Derek held a larger portion of care and worry for the younger man than he did for anyone else on the team. When things went wrong and Spencer was the one in trouble, hurt or in a dangerous situation, you could see it reflected in Derek. He held himself taught, jaw clenched, fists balled. Anyone putting the kid in danger should be scared for their life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>During the Hankel case, Derek was an absolute mess. He punched a door and swore every opportunity he had. Hankel was likely lucky he had died that night, Penelope doesn’t know what Derek would’ve done if he’d seen the man hovering over Spencer in that graveyard. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You like him, Derek. There’s nothing to be ashamed about,” she says carefully. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s so young,” Derek whispers. “I’d be taking advantage of that fact. He doesn’t know how to date, he’s never been with som -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Derek. This might surprise you but you could never take advantage of Spence.” She sounds genuine, which calms Derek’s racing heart. “He’s too smart for his own good. He’s had a relationship before, albeit a short one, but he knows what he’d be getting into.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Confusion paints Derek’s face at that, and he frowns slightly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, uh, two things,” he starts. “He’s dated someone before?” Penelope nods, a preemptive answer. “You’re talking about this as if I’ve already asked him out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He knows what he’d be getting into. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“... Because you </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> going to,” Penelope says sternly. “He dated a guy in college before he left one night. I know you’d never do that. Loyalty and longevity, Derek. You adore him. Just talk to him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He drops his chin, shaking his head solemnly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m just - I don’t think there’s enough in favour for this to ever work.” He props one leg up onto his coffee table and leans his head in both hands. “Inter-team dating is off the table, he’s six years younger than me, he thinks we’re best friends - which we </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I could never do this to him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope reaches out with one hand, her bracelets jingling quietly, as she gently touches the back of his wrist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Derek, he sees you as his best friend, yes. But you’ve never seen the way he looks at you from an outside perspective.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They did always have a strange way of watching each other. Spencer had always stared up at Derek with fondness and purity. Derek always watched him from across the room, worrying, caring, dedicating himself to the kid’s well being. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just - all I’m asking. Pay more attention tomorrow at work. You’ll notice it more.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They spend the night watching reruns of shows they saw as teens, eating popcorn and flinching at every new petal that crawled it’s way up Derek’s throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>----</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t think he’ll notice anything new. He was a profiler after all, how much could he really miss?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>First thing as he walks in the door is Spencer’s head of sandy curls popping up from where it was bent over his desk. He smiles widely, giving Derek a light wave as he passes through to his own desk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” he tries, leaving the typical ‘pretty boy’ tucked away from his greeting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The boy smiles wider, but his face drops when Derek coughs hoarsely into the sleeve of his shirt and quickly hurries away into the break room where he can gag into the sink without worrying about anyone seeing the delicate petals dragged through the crimson staining of his blood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s getting worse, noticeably so. Penelope checks in with him every hour and scrunches up her nose when she peeks into the bullpen to see Derek, head down in work with Spencer occasionally glancing his way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’re lovesick - literally - and it’s horrible to see them both ignoring the signs any other profiler should pick up on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Regardless, Derek refuses to listen to her when she gives some subtle cues.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You should ask him out.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I thought you were trying to</span>
  </em>
  <span> ease</span>
  <em>
    <span> me into the idea.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In any other situation he would consider it despite the six years difference, but they worked together and he would only get more sick if Spencer turned around and said no.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though at the rate he was going, rejection wouldn’t speed things along too considerably. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Morgan?” Someone asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He straightens upright immediately and faces the door, wiping his hand across his mouth as casually as possible in case he has dried specks of blood on his lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spencer is standing nervously in the doorway to the kitchenette, wringing his hands together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi - um - I just wanted to - to check and make sure you’re… alright,” he trails off, biting the inside of his cheek nervously. “And to get some coffee,” he adds. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek shakes his head in amusement, shuffling aside to let Spencer into the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine, kid. Just might be coming down with something small.” Lying feels wrong, especially to Spencer - Penelope was right, he’s different - but it’s miles better than telling him the truth. He could never put the poor kid in that position. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I have some cough drops. Let me know if you need some anytime today,” he says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God, Derek thinks, he was right to call the kid all those things. He was so pure hearted and selfless, always going out of his way for others. Loyalty was one thing and adoration for him was another. Derek was in love, and he’s surprised he didn’t realise it before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d always told himself Spence was like a younger brother. A mentee. But now, thinking back on how his chest constructed seeing him in pain, the way he unravelled completely during Hankel and the church group with Emily… he thinks perhaps he’d been wrong all these years. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt responsible for the kid. He was young, vulnerable, his heart on his sleeve, too open for his own good. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You alright?” He asks, watching Spencer putter around for his mug and the pre-brewed coffee. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mhm. Just need more sugar,” he says, shaking the container upside down above the drink. “It’s not -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s interrupted by the entire remainder of sugar crumbling clean from the container and splashing down into his drink. The two of them stare at it until Spencer picks the drink up, takes a sip and nods happily. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well that worked out,” he says positively. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His smile is wider than ever and his cheeks have reddened from the slightest embarrassment. His eyes catch the fluorescent lights and seem to glow that special olive-chestnut when he tilts his head up, pleased with his coffee and clutching it with two hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek is, without question, unfailingly in love with Doctor Spencer Reid.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>----</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Things progress in a steadily negative direction from there. Derek has a blissful six days of petals and green, scratchy leaves before he coughs up half a flower in one sitting. The seeds slice all the way up his throat and leave ulcers that burn and hiss anytime he’s caught in the same room as Spencer, who’s been keeping to himself for most of the week.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The progress has gotten far worse and he isn’t sure how much longer he can postpone the inevitable doctor’s appointment he’s going to have to make, despite Penelope’s protests and suggestions.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t know what could change his mind. He could never put himself above Spencer and his comfort. He would never risk their friendship for the miniscule probability of Spencer returning feelings of affection outside the realm of friendliness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But on the other hand, he doesn’t think he could live without his feelings either. How would he get through a day of paperwork without filing Spencer up for fun, or flirting with Penelope in front of him only to throw the occasional bone his way just to see his face flush bright pink. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t want to work cases without that familiar stab of protective instinct that has saved the kid’s life too many times to count on one hand. He doesn’t want to go back to the first few months Spencer was part of the team, when he was quiet and withdrawn from the lack of social communication. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spencer didn’t deserve to be forced into a romantic altercation, but he also didn’t deserve to lose such a close friend either. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek’s mother used to tell him that if you aren’t sure how close of a friend someone really is, stop messaging them and stop reaching out, see how long it takes before they initiate a conversation or a meeting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For the past week, Spencer has been that same kind of withdrawn and Derek has been unable to reach out for fear of worsening the continuation of his disease.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He would reach out any other week, just not when it could hurt him so terribly. He doesn’t want to risk furthering his spread. He was at the stage of almost full flowers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>----</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They get a case mid-week and Derek is thankful for the change of scenery, especially when Hotch announces that both Penelope </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>Spencer will be staying behind to consult from the office.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s going to be halfway across the country and will only have to attempt keeping things as normal through a phone speaker when absolutely necessary.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They make it halfway through the case when he finds they need information from Penelope, who’s been cooped up in her office all day with Spencer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey baby girl,” he says casually.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Watch it, baby, you’re on speaker,” she warns lightheartedly. Derek thinks she knows his symptoms flare when his adoration spikes. Spencer just happens to cause that when he… does anything, really. His sweet, gentle rambles, his hurried spew of information followed by a nervous smile or a quick apology for speeding off on a tangent too fast for anyone to comprehend.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, well, well,” he hums, attempting beyond everything else to sound as normal as any other day. He was dead focused on not letting this get in the way of his and Spencer’s friendship, not when the kid was so prone to blaming himself when others distanced themselves. “What’ve my beautiful goddess and boy genius have in store for me on these house listings Hotch needs?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His throat already goes tight, and he already has plans to mute himself if anything works its way up to press behind his lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We, uh - Spence, you good?” There’s staticky, muffled hacks and coughs from Penelope’s end of the line, and Derek assumes this is one of the reasons Hotch had let Spencer stay clear of the case in person, though if he was sick he should really be resting. “I’ll call back,” Penelope says quickly before cutting his response off with the dial tone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek blinks, staring down at his phone in question and repeating the conversation in his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Was Spencer coming down with a cold, or was it something he’d said?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something was wrong here, Spencer didn’t abruptly leave calls, he was far too eager to please for that kind of nonsense. Something else was happening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Trail of Blood</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>He knows what the petal meant, has been pining for the same man for years. The same, very straight, very uninterested man. His best friend. </p>
<p>Derek Morgan.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>&lt;3 for my Beta, , and her Ao3: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/rxseinbloom/pseuds/rxseinbloom/works">rxseinbloom</a><br/>And her gorgeous tumblr: <a href="https://rxseinbloom.tumblr.com/">@rxseinbloom</a></p>
<p>&lt;3 for co-writer, Dani, her Ao3 is: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandsupernovae">Starsandsupernovae</a><br/>And her gorgeous tumblr: <a href="https://reid-and-writing.tumblr.com/">@reid-and-writing</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Dear Mother,<br/>I hope you’re doing well. Today passed pretty much as normal. We wrapped up the case with the car crashes yesterday that I told you about before, so , today was spent on regular bureaucratic paperwork. Although I’m almost certain Der Morgan slipped a few extra files onto my desk. I haven’t confronted him about it yet, but honestly I don’t mind it much. I think Prentiss gives him some of hers so it all balances out. Well, I don’t give her any of mine, but I think it does work out alright. And this way we finish about the same time, and we can walk out together. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Garcia came in with cupcakes today, with extra sprinkles, so I’m not sure yet if something’s really stressing her out or if she’s just found another new baking blog. She’s told me she’s going to find blogs for my own interests but you know where I stand on technology. Still, she gets so excited about it, I think I'm going to make an effort. I did eat cupcakes, you’ll be glad to hear, although I’m afraid I’m still drinking the coffee. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Morgan cut me off today though, I lost track of the time and he intercepted me on my way to make another cup. I think he just felt bad for giving me the extra files but it was nice of him. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I think I may be coming down with a cold, which I did expect. It’s the Virginia winters here. Well, obviously it’s not the cold weather itself. But I know that the milder seasons of the East Coast were always easier on me. Still, I have plenty of tea and I’m keeping warm. I still have Morgan’s jacket actually. I’ll probably return it tomorrow. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Missing you,<br/>Spencer. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Spencer puts his pen down, rereading the letter before he folds it into thirds and slips it into the pre-addressed envelope. Nothing very interesting to include, but he writes every day, and his mother does seem to appreciate it. And it helps Spencer too, to lay out the events of the day. <em> Even if,</em> he thinks as he’s interrupted by a violent cough, <em>he underplays aspects sometimes. </em></p>
<p>He had woken up with it yesterday, a tightness in his chest he couldn’t ignore, a chill that seemed to run bone deep. But as he continued on his morning routine it became manageable, and he was able to work as normal. There was no need to interrupt the end of a case with a simple cough. When today he woke feeling the same he knew he could just push through. </p>
<p>Still, perhaps he should go to sleep earlier. He seals the envelope carefully, setting it by his bag to mail first thing in the morning on his way out. </p>
<p>But as he gets ready for bed his chest grows tighter, his coughing more frequent. For a moment he wonders if he’s going to be sick, but his stomach feels perfectly fine. He drinks down a glass of water, but it does little to soothe him. He goes to sleep irritated, his throat feeling harsh and raw, dragging in air. </p>
<p>When he wakes, he can’t breathe. </p>
<p>No, that isn’t right, a small rational part of his mind tells him, he’s coughing, that means he’s breathing. But it doesn’t feel like he can breathe, the rest of him is panicking as he props himself on his shoulders and the coughs force their way from his poor throat, like something’s trying to claw its way out. Tears spring to his eyes as he turns to the side and the moonlight streaming through his window illuminates the spray of blood that lands on the ends of his pillow and onto the sheet. He coughs one last time, and for a moment, he’s caught in the relief of being able to suck in oxygen, so caught up he almost doesn’t see it. </p>
<p>Lying innocently amongst the dark drops sinking into the threads of his pillowcase, a pure white petal. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fuck. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>This was no cold. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>_____________</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He spends the rest of the night on automatic. He takes the petal, one of the ends stained with blood like it had been delicately singed, and crumples it in his hand, tossing it away before stripping his bed, replacing the dirty sheet and pillowcase. He can't sleep anymore that night, and finds himself pacing his apartment. He ends up in his living room, curling up on a couch, reading a book he’s already read without taking in a single word.</p>
<p>He knows what the petal meant, has been pining for the same man for years. The same, very straight, very uninterested man. His best friend. </p>
<p>Derek Morgan. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The man who’s very smile could light up a whole room. Who knows how he drinks his coffee and when it’s time to stop. Who always has the time for someone else’s problem. Who owns Spencer’s heart. </p>
<p>But he’s also the man who comes in and talks about the girls he takes home. The man who’s Spencer’s friend and nothing more. The man who had plenty of time to make a move if he would ever feel inclined. No, Spencer’s very aware of how Derek feels towards him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he goes in the next day he tries to ignore it. The ache in his chest that amplifies whenever Derek’s around. The cough that erupts when Derek pats his shoulder on his way past, laughing at some lame joke he made. </p>
<p>He makes it to the bathroom in time to hide it when he feels the terrible choking feeling again, when another petal forces its way up. This time it comes along with a few more. They’re still tiny, like little buds, but they’re growing. Spencer is all too aware of how they grow. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s also painfully aware of his only option. But it’s a few days until he actually takes action. Five of them actually. He spends them trying to complete his work the best he can while hiding his symptoms. Each day it gets harder, as the ache in his chest grows, as he starts coughing up more and more. </p>
<p>The first day he coughs up his first complete bud. It’s at home, and he’s wearing Derek’s jacket. He knows he shouldn’t but he’s cold, even in his heated apartment and Derek’s jacket is warm, the added weight comforting. He makes it to the sink, the droplets of blood splattering on the porcelain and the bud lands in the middle, stained red. Without thinking he reaches out and gently picks it up, peeling open the tiny bud delicately. The petals are pristine inside, the yellow center untouched by his blood. It’s small, perfect and innocent for something that’s been choking him all day. </p>
<p>Another comes the second day, and this time he has to make an excuse to leave a team meeting, rushing to the bathroom at the other end of the floor, the one he knows will be empty. There he’s free to cough and gasp for air until it flies from his mouth with several other petals. They’re growing fast. </p>
<p>He doesn’t sleep that night and on the third day JJ comes to speak to him. </p>
<p>“Hey, Spence.” Her voice cuts into his concentration, as he focuses on a case file. </p>
<p>“Hi.” he looks up. “What do you need?”</p>
<p>“Are you alright?” She asks, tilting her head so her hair falls to the side. Almost, but not quite obscuring Spencer’s view of Derek talking to Emily about something he can’t discern. </p>
<p>“Fine.” He says, giving her a smile. The one Derek always laughs at, says it’s more a line then a curve. “Just didn’t sleep much last night, that’s all.”</p>
<p>“Okay.” JJ says, smiling back. “We’re still on for dinner tomorrow, right? Henry misses his godfather.” </p>
<p>Right. The dinner. No, he couldn’t go, not like this. Not when he might be struck by a coughing fit at the table. </p>
<p>“I’m actually feeling a little under the weather.” Spencer says regretfully. Hoping she’ll realize how genuine he is. “I’m sorry. I just, I wouldn’t want to expose Henry to anything. You said he had an ear infection just a few weeks ago and I remember how it worried you. Although, of course he’s healthy and resilient, I just don’t want to risk that. Can we reschedule?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>JJ’s disappointed, he can see it in the way she straightens up a little, her arms shifting beneath the box of files she’s holding.</p>
<p>“Of course, Spence.” She answers. “I hope you feel better soon.” </p>
<p>So does he. </p>
<p>But of course, with no intervention, nothing changes. He leaves a little early on the fourth day, having completed his work and spends the night engrossed in his research. Trying desperately to find an alternative treatment. But there was nothing. </p>
<p>On the fifth day he wakes up coughing again. The flower that lands in his hand is an almost fully formed daisy, and he balls it up in his hand with the other petals that came with it, tossing it away, trying not to look at them. </p>
<p>He’s been managing at work by trying to keep meetings as short as possible, doing his work and keeping his head down. Avoiding conversations so he doesn’t get caught in a coughing fit. He’s been trying to act normal, as he always has, but it’s getting harder when every time Derek talks to him, gets near him, his chest clenches, and another petal scratches at his throat. </p>
<p>And it’s on the fifth day that Spencer, in full view of everyone in the bullpen snaps at him. Derek comes in and gives him that stupid smile, the one that Spencer always has to match. But today, it hurts. It hurts and Derek passes him on his way to his desk, playfully ruffling Spencer’s hair. </p>
<p>Normally Spencer would appreciate it, smile at the gesture. But this time, Derek’s touch sends pain shooting through his chest. He jerks away from his hand instinctively. </p>
<p>“Can you not?” Spencer’s words come out more harshly then he means them, forcing their way from his scratched throat. </p>
<p>“Just, I’m sorry, I’m-- just don’t touch me!” Spencer can’t face him, turning to cough into his arm. It seemed that Derek himself had come down with a cough, so he felt safer, knowing the team would just interpret his symptoms as manifestations of the same. </p>
<p>Spencer doesn’t look but he can almost feel Derek hurting at his response. </p>
<p>That night he books a consultation.</p>
<p>__________________</p>
<p>
  <em>Dear Mother,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I hope you’re doing well. We still haven’t got a new case although we were called to consult. They didn’t really want us to investigate, just draw up a profile. It was pretty basic honestly. Sometimes I think we should just draw up templates looking for a white male in his mid thirties who seems charming but just a little too close to people with hidden childhood trauma. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Garcia’s still baking, she brought in pumpkin muffins today. I do think she’s stressed but I don’t think it’s really anything to be too worried about. Morgan’s caught some kind of cold too, I think she’s worried about him. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>But Morgan would tell me if it was anything too bad. Even though he doesn’t believe he can get sick. Do you remember last year when he caught the flu? Told me it was impossible for a Morgan to be stopped by a simple virus. I had to drag him to a doctor. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Rossi’s hiding his crosswords from me again. But when he left his office to get some coffee I slipped in to finish them. He’ll probably get to it tomorrow. I’ll let you know how he reacts. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Missing you,<br/>Spencer</em>
</p>
<p>His letters feel wrong now. He’s laying out his day, but only few, basic details. In his mind, the day is still a mess, he hasn’t been able to straighten it all out on paper. But he doesn’t need to bother his mother, she doesn’t need to worry about him. He’ll tell her when it’s all over. He just needs to take care of it, and it’ll be all over. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The consultation office is stark and white. Someone oblivious, or perhaps with a twisted sense of humor had placed a vase of flowers on the desk in an effort to make the place more comforting. Spencer would have laughed at that if it didn’t  hurt so much. </p>
<p>“Dr. Reid.” The woman across from him, Dr. Hart began. “Please tell me what brings you in today.”</p>
<p>“I first noticed my symptoms a little over a week ago. They presented as a tightness in the chest and a heavy cough. I believed it to be just a cold until I coughed up the first petal. Since then I’ve progressed from buds to fully grown flower petals.” Spencer describes clinically. As though it was just another case detail, not his own body betraying him. Growing a garden of futile unrequited love. </p>
<p>“And do you know who--”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes, Doctor. He’s not interested.” Spencer cuts her off before she can finish the question and she just nods, marking another checkbox on her clipboard. </p>
<p>“I understand. Now, Dr. Reid, I do have to make you aware of the risks of the surgery you’re seeking. There are a very small percentage of surgery’s which do end with additional harm to the patient. Additionally, even if the surgery is successful, it will not simply remove the physical symptoms of Hanahaki.” She recites as if she’s had to say the same words hundreds of times before, and she probably has. It’s just another day for her. And Spencer has to try to convince himself that he feels the same way, that he has a simple problem he’s here to fix. </p>
<p>“I know. I’ve done my research.” He answers her, interrupted by a violent cough. She motions to the tissues next to him and he catches the bloodied petals with them before placing them into the small plastic sample bag. It lies between them, the red and brown mottling the purity of the white flower. Sullied innocence.</p>
<p>“I’m glad to hear it. I’m going to send you home with some more pamphlets and papers you’ll have to read through and sign. I do need to tell you that with a successful surgery your feelings will cease. They will not linger, you will not feel mildly affectionate towards the focus of your Hanahaki. Your feelings will be completely gone. Your feelings towards others may or may not change. Different patients respond differently. There is a small but not insignificant chance you will be unable to feel for others for quite a while.”</p>
<p>Spencer just nods as he accepts the pamphlet and papers she hands over. </p>
<p>“Are there any questions you have for me?” She asks after a moment.</p>
<p>“Yes, actually.” Spencer answers, looking back up at her. “How soon can we schedule the surgery?”</p>
<p>He leaves with surgery booked for two weeks. His tests had shown that he’d be able to wait that long without reversible damage although he was warned that the next two weeks would be extremely uncomfortable and advised to stay away from the object of his affection as that would only exacerbate his symptoms. His body was apparently especially vulnerable to the disease and it was progressing fast. He had nodded and gotten on the train back to work. </p>
<p>They hadn’t lied about the exacerbated symptoms. He started showing up to work late, avoiding meetings when he could. He left as early as possible, taking his work home to complete it there. He rarely slept through the night, and when he did, he always found the blood and petals he’d coughed up in his sleep around him. </p>
<p>Still, he tells himself as he drags himself to his desk, exactly one week from his surgery date, he’s halfway there. He’ll just do his work, and get out. At least that was the plan. But before he can reach his desk Hotch intercepts him.</p>
<p>“Reid? I’d like to see you in my office for a few moments.”</p>
<p>Spencer hefts the strap of his bag further up his hunched shoulder as he follows Hotch into the small room. Hotch motions for him to sit and he does so gratefully, still clutching his satchel and hoping he’ll be able to avoid a coughing fit for the duration of the conversation. </p>
<p>“Is everything okay?” His voice has changed, it’s rougher now, lower. He’s talking a lot less now too, every word scratches at his raw throat and runs the risk of triggering another coughing fit. Still, he thinks some people might prefer it that way. He’s always known he talks too much.</p>
<p>“That’s actually what I want to ask you, Reid.” Hotch leans forward, hands together on his desk. “I’m worried about you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“About me?” Spencer repeats and immediately wants to kick himself. Hotch picks up on his hesitation immediately and obviously. Of course, Spencer hadn’t really expected a team of profilers to think nothing had changed but he’d thought he had a short enough time frame to work with. </p>
<p>“Yes, about you. You’ve been coming in late and missing work. Cutting meetings short. You haven’t been talking as much, and you’ve been snapping at your teammates.” Hotch says, and it’s clear he’s building up to something he doesn’t want to. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry, sir. I realize that, uh, my behavior the past couple of weeks hasn’t been, well, exemplary.” Spencer starts, toying with the end of his thick cardigan. He’s always cold now. <br/>“I’ve only seen you like this once before.” Hotch says and Spencer knows he’s in trouble then. </p>
<p>“I need to ask you. As your unit chief, and mentor, and, I hope, your friend. Spencer, are you using again?” </p>
<p>“No!” The word comes out too quick, too forceful. Triggering a coughing fit, Spencer nearly bending double covering his mouth. It’s not enough to contain it though, a petal escaping, landing on Hotch’s desk, staining the edge of a paper red.</p>
<p>“It’s not that, Hotch.” Although of course, the sentence is redundant now, the bloody flowers in Spencer’s now clenched fist all the evidence he needs. </p>
<p>“Hanahaki?” Hotch’s gaze is still fixed on the white petal on his desk. “Why didn’t you say anything?”</p>
<p>“I’m taking care of it.” Spencer says shortly, wrapping the flowers in tissues before throwing them away. </p>
<p>“Taking care of it? You mean the--”</p>
<p>“The surgery. A week from today. I was going to ask you for the time, I’m sorry.” Spencer coughs again, just blood this time. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Jesus Reid, you don’t have to be sorry, I-- But you need to tell me these things. You said you’re receiving surgery? The person who’s causing all this, are they aware?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I am. They’re not interested. I’m getting rid of this, Hotch. I just need some time.” Spencer answers. </p>
<p>Hotch looks at him for another long moment. He doesn’t warn him about the risks for which Spencer is grateful-- they both know he’s very aware. </p>
<p>“You need to tell me when something like this is happening.” he says finally, but his voice is softer and he’s still looking at Spencer with concern. “You can take the time you need for your surgery. Until then, I’m pulling you from the field. You’ll stay behind with Garcia if we do get a case.”</p>
<p>“Okay.” Spencer nods. Truthfully, he would be useless in the field and he was only getting worse. </p>
<p>“And if you need to stay home, or take more time before, you need to tell me.” Hotch says, voice firm and Spencer nods again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Just take care of yourself.” Hotch responds, and Spencer gives him a weak smile before he leaves. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s never been very good at that. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>With Hotch’s knowledge work, at least, was a little easier. Hotch just gave him a nod when he needed to leave meetings and was careful with the assignments. </p>
<p>But of course, Hotch isn’t Spencer’s problem.</p>
<p>Derek is.</p>
<p>Sitting in the desk opposite him, humming under his breath as he works, the tune worming its way into Spencer’s mind as leaves grow up his throat. Standing in the round table room, arms folded as he explains his reasoning, a point that works frustratingly well. </p>
<p>He seems to be spending more time with Penelope now, and it’s a bitter relief. Despite the pain, despite his shortness of breath whenever he’s around, he misses Derek. </p>
<p>He misses their conversations, the way Derek would listen to him talk about the latest thing Spencer had grown obsessed with, and ask questions at the right points. He misses hearing little details from Derek’s renovations, he misses squabbling over whether or not Spencer’s input was helpful </p>
<p>
  <em>”I have a doctorate in engineering, Derek!”<br/>“Last week you called me to ask how to turn the water off, pretty boy.”<br/>“Well I’m not going to ask you anymore if this is how you’re going to hold it over me.” </em>
</p>
<p>And the way they’d both known he was lying. But he really wasn’t going to talk to Derek now. Couldn’t physically do it without the pain. It was like the flowers were trying to force a confession out of him. But he wouldn’t do that to Derek. Why ask the question when Spencer already knew the answer?</p>
<p>As Spencer tries to focus on the email in front of him, inviting him to some guest lecture, his mind wanders. He can’t help but wonder if Derek misses their conversations too. But he’s pushed Derek away and he doesn’t seem to be making moves to come back. He sighs heavily before returning to his email.</p>
<p>They want him in three weeks and he responds with an affirmative. In three weeks it’ll all be over. He won’t care that he and Derek aren’t speaking so much anymore. It won’t hurt to stand in the same room as him, holding a conversation won’t be excruciating. </p>
<p>He won’t feel anything at all. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Dear Mother,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>There’s not much to talk about today. Garcia’s lobbying for a take your pet to work day and Prentiss has picked it up. Honestly I can’t tell how sincere she is about the whole thing. I think she’s doing it ironically. But she does love Sergio very much. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I’ve accepted an invitation to lecture about geographic profiling at that university again. I know I said never again, but they said this time they’ll be prepared. I think they’re trying to get Rossi too so it won’t be too bad if we’re both there. Rossi has a way of defusing a room. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I’ll have to ask him about it, I didn’t get a chance to speak to him today. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I did get called into Hotch’s office. It’s always a little scary being summoned. Almost like being pulled into the principal’s office. But it was alright in the end. He just wanted to discuss when he needs me at work, and when he can spare me. For these lectures. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Missing you, <br/>Spencer</em>
</p>
<p>It’s only after Spencer has already folded the paper in thirds when he realizes. He hasn’t mentioned Derek once. Not in the last five letters. But the truth is it’s too hard. If he wants the paper to stay clean, if he wants the letter to stay calm. He can no longer write about Derek without the pain flaring up, without another clump of petals and leaves clawing out of his throat. </p>
<p>Still, perhaps it was best that Derek had been phased out of the letters. He had always focused on him a little more than anyone else. And after the surgery, he probably wouldn’t write about him much at all. </p>
<p>________________</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They have a case the next morning. It’s a messy one, Penelope keeps turning away from the photos on screen. Hotch’s mouth thins and he delivers his orders with a quiet firmness.</p>
<p>“Wheels up in thirty. Reid, you’ll stay here with Garcia and help her out on this end.”</p>
<p>Spencer nods gratefully, refusing to meet anyone’s eye. He follows Penelope to her lair, calming a little as he steps in. Maybe a break from being right next to Derek will be good for him. </p>
<p>And Penelope’s place always calms him, as disorienting  as it can be. Normally Spencer hates cluttered spaces. But while Penelope has the wildest assortment of small objects on her desk, Spencer can discern some form of order within them, the ones she toys with, the ones that are just for show. </p>
<p>“Alright, boy genius. Ready to be showed up?” She says as she logs back into her computer, preparing to connect to the video call, and he manages a small smile. </p>
<p>“If that’s how you think this is going to go.” He returns and she gives him one of her own wide smiles. </p>
<p>“I feel like we haven’t spoken in ages.” She says, swiveling to view a different screen. “I miss you.”</p>
<p>“I’ve been right here.” he points out. </p>
<p>“You know what I mean.” She spins back so he can see her unimpressed look. </p>
<p>“I just haven’t been feeling so well.” Spencer admits. She doesn’t need to know everything but he feels bad he’s been isolating himself. “But it’s fine. I’m on medication. I’ll be better in a week.”</p>
<p>She gives him a scrutinizing look and for a moment Spencer regrets saying anything. But then it’s gone and she’s wrapping him in a hug. </p>
<p>“Why didn’t you tell me? I worry about you, you know.” she says</p>
<p>“I know.” He feels worse for lying to her now. “But I’m fine, really. I’m still here at work, aren’t I? I spoke to Hotch, it’s fine.” </p>
<p>“Oh, did he give you the eyebrows of disappointment?” Penelope asks while her fingers fly on autopilot, trying to connect to the jet. </p>
<p>“The what?” </p>
<p>“Oh you know! When Hotch does the-- this.” She sets her face in a disappointed expression, moving down her eyebrows and setting her lips in a line, just as the video to the jet connects. </p>
<p>“I’d keep working on it.” Hotch’s dry voice comes over the speakers and Spencer swears he sees a twitch of a smile. </p>
<p>“Sorry, sir. I just, uh, I’m going to start the briefing now.” Penelope, flustered, pulls up the files. </p>
<p>“Good idea.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>____________</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Working with Penelope is nice, the two of them get along well, and he’s able to escape when he feels he needs to. The next day, she brings in soup, enough for the entire team really, tells him he just had extra, and it does soothe his throat the tiniest bit. </p>
<p>He’s still in pain, but <em>he</em> is halfway across the country and he tries not to think about him and that helps. </p>
<p>He thinks he’s doing pretty well until the afternoon. When it isn't Hotch who calls, but him. Derek’s voice coming over the speakers. Asking what his genius and his goddess have for him, and suddenly Spencer can’t breathe. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He doesn’t even know what Penelope answers, bent over as he is, trying to gasp, and when she hangs up only moments later he’s already coughing into a tissue, trying to hide what’s coming out of his mouth.</p>
<p>“Reid? Spencer, what’s wrong?” Penelope turns to him, worried. </p>
<p>“N--nothing.” Spencer gasps out. “I’m, I’m fine. Just-- I’ll be back.” </p>
<p>He’s already almost out the door by the time he’s finished speaking, heading to the empty bathroom. He moves so fast he doesn’t see the petal that escapes, floating gently through the air until it lands innocently on Penelope’s black keyboard.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Tumblr is <a href="https://ag-ib.tumblr.com/">@ag-ib</a></p>
<p>my heart goes &lt;3&lt;3&lt;3 when anyone sends asks</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Magical Healing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>&lt;3 for my Beta, Em, and her Ao3: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/rxseinbloom/pseuds/rxseinbloom/works">rxseinbloom</a><br/>And her gorgeous tumblr: <a href="https://rxseinbloom.tumblr.com/">@rxseinbloom</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Penelope blinks, looking after Spencer, who’s left the door swinging closed behind him. She closes her mouth where it had been opened in protest as the boy-genius sprinted from the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hums worriedly to herself, frowning until her brows almost meet in the middle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her phone buzzes, and she turns towards it to see Derek’s picture lighting up the screen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a cropped image of when he showed up to Penelope’s Halloween party. In the full image Derek’s arm was thrown around Spencer’s side, a large, lopsided grin hanging from his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wonders why it’s taken her this long to figure the two of them out. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Of course,</span>
  </em>
  <span> they had feelings for each other. It was so obvious once she knew and could see all the signs. The way Derek always took a little extra care for him, watching closely during rough cases, always ready to step in for a supportive word here or there. Or the way Derek was who Spencer made a beeline for when he found a new ‘hyper fixation,’ as he liked to call them. How Derek had spent an entire week studying one of them just to surprise Spencer with some clever answers and conversation points, to show how much he listened and adored the boy’s ramblings. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were clearly fond of each other more than friends were, and she kicks herself for not pushing them in the right direction far earlier in their </span>
  <em>
    <span>friendship</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, what was that all about?” Derek asks with concern when she finally composes herself enough to pick up. “Is Spencer okay? What’s going on?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>And there it was again; the adoring concern Derek always has for Spencer when any little thing seems to go awry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I - he just had to step out for a minute,” she lies. There’s no point in worrying Derek when he’s already halfway across the country and trying to avoid being in Spencer’s vicinity lest he choke up an entire sunflower.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looks downward, fiddling with her mouse pad guiltily. She’s always hated lying, likely because she was terrible at it and always ended up hurting someone’s feelings.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Penelope?” Derek sounds unconvinced. “Talk to me, baby girl, what’s happening?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s an added urgency in his voice, and she knows it has to hurt him, she can hear the rasp of his torn throat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>She picks at the tabs of her laptop, feeling the second-hand distress from her best friend’s worry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s kind of under the weather today, I think he just needed to step out,” she says. It’s closer to the truth and further away from a lie, but she still feels a pang of regret for not telling him about the panic in Spencer’s eyes when he dashed out of the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek speaks again, but something new has caught her attention.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something pure white with a dotting of yellow pollen and crimson staining.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>She reaches out to pick it up before she realizes and it all slots into place, it all makes sense now. Why Spencer had been pulling away, drawing into himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, listen,” she starts slowly, twisting the delicate thing between her thumb and forefinger. “I might actually just go check in with him, make sure he’s doing okay and everything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek makes a pleased noise in his ragged throat and, assumingly, nods his approval from the other end of the line.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let me know how he is?” He asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Course,” she says hurriedly. The longer she holds the daisy, the more she worries about Spencer. Sure, sunflowers were giant plants, but Derek wasn’t at the stage of whole flowers, but this was an entire daisy. She hopes among other things that Spencer hasn’t somehow progressed further into the disease without her or anybody else noticing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hangs up, already moving to follow Spencer. She knows where he’s going, there’s only one place he would go. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her heels click against the linoleum as she raps the door to the men’s bathroom.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“One-eighty-seven, stop gussying up, I’m coming in!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hears a panicked sound from inside, almost like a cut off shout, but when she pushes the door open, there is nothing but a horrible, rasping cough. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s wet and she hopes against all hopes it’s not the bloodied, choking kind of cough Derek’s been struggling with. “Spence?” She calls, voice softer now as her annoyance at being left in the dark fades into raw concern for her friend.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>She slowly rounds the corner of the entry until she can see the line of sinks against the wall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spencer’s sitting between two sinks, back against the wall. Surrounded by a gentle carpet of white daisies and green leaves. A horrifyingly beautiful array. Blood drips from his mouth, and colours the petals around him, twisting the sight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Penelope.” he manages, not even bothering to catch the petal he spits out with her name. “This is the men’s room,” he rasps.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope chokes out a small laugh, her eyes crinkling in sympathy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, sweetie,” she croons, kneeling down on the floor beside his mottled carpeting of flowers. “Why didn’t you tell me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m dealing with it.” His expression closes off. “Hotch knows. I’m - it’ll be gone in less than a week.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What does that mean?” She asks, pausing a moment to consider the statement for herself. “Oh! Spence, you’re going to - no, no - Spencer, trust me, you can’t go and have these removed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tries not to picture an environment without Spencer and Derek’s constant bantering and playful bickering. It’s sad, and so unlike their office atmosphere.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span>, actually.” Spencer answers, wiping blood from his chin. “There really isn’t another option. It’s fine, I’ve thoroughly researched my doctor. The procedure’s safe, they perform tens of thousands of these operations per year.” Penelope looked upset with the statistic, and Spencer clearly understood her dislike. She was open about her reluctance when it came to shutting down a person’s feelings, it was damaging and a horrid pet peeve of hers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s the ninth safest surgical procedure in America,” he explains, as if safety was Penelope’s main concern.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And” he gestures at the flowers around him, “it’s one-hundred percent safer than the alternative.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And what’s that?” Penelope asks sceptically.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The fatality rate of untreated and unresolved Hanahaki is one-hundred percent.” Spencer says bluntly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What if I could promise I wouldn’t let anything like that happen to you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t,” Spencer says softly, sadly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you even asked him?” She kneels down next to him, pushing a few flowers aside so she can sit close enough that their knees brush together comfortingly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t need to,” he murmurs. “I’m just a little brother to him, just like I am to everybody else. Just a </span>
  <em>
    <span>kid.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He drops his voice when he says the last word, a pale imitation of Derek’s nickname for him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope sighs, shaking her head slightly. She doesn’t know what to do. It wasn’t her place to tell either of them what was going on, but there was no way she </span>
  <em>
    <span>couldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They two of them were head over heels and there was no denying Spencer would willingly cut out every last feeling he had if it meant he didn’t have to lay himself out vulnerably to Derek.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s too late anyway.” Spencer adds. “At this point, getting a rejection is too dangerous.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why would you leave it for so long, you know how much it’d destroy him if he lost you.” Penelope tries not to sound upset but it comes out anyway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lost a friend, Penelope. Nothing more, okay?” Spencer’s voice breaks up and he rasps out the last sentence like it's tearing up his oesophagus. “He could never see me as anything more than that. And that’s fine. I’m going to get this fixed and it’ll be over. Please, just, please don’t tell him. Let me deal with this,” he begs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope looks into his wide, frightened eyes and sees the distress there. Her heart loosens up, and despite her own worry for the two lovesick idiots, she knows how petrified both of them would be if the other found out about their feelings.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, Spence. I’ll promise you I won’t say anything on one condition,” Penelope leads. Spencer perks up, tilting his head to the side like an interested puppy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let me take care of you,” she says seriously. “I don’t want you alone during this, you need someone there in your corner, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m okay on my own.” he says, although his point is undercut by the flower he chokes up before he can finish his sentence. She doesn’t answer him, just waits until he says</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright. Thank you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope smiles, still with an air of sadness for him, but a soft smile all the same.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right, let’s get this cleaned up,” she says, standing to reach a hand out to help Spencer up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>His grip is weak as he stands and looks around at the mess. “You’ve really got a lot of love, don’t you boy-wonder?” The mess he’s made is far larger in quantity of flowers than what she’d seen from Derek, though sunflowers were far larger than daisies. Spencer must be coughing up daisies every half hour if he had the same number of painful interactions as Derek.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spencer merely shrugs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s just get rid of it.” he says, and she nods. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>She makes Spencer take the next day off and he can’t really argue. Not when it hurts him to get up too quickly or to make it up a flight of stairs. Not to mention how difficult it was to communicate with Derek on the case without feeling ill and choked-up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope doesn’t know what to do. She’s promised not to tell, but this wasn’t right. They had such love for each other, and they were going to lose it all over miscommunication. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not to mention the rate at which Derek’s health was deteriorating. She had answered the phone earlier with a customary greeting only to have Hotch’s dry voice respond. Derek was apparently staying behind in the hotel looking over the evidence. She knew what that meant. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Morally speaking, she couldn’t break a promise, but on the logical side it would be crazy and detrimental to both Spencer and Derek if she ignored the issue and one of them only grew sicker while the other cut away their remaining emotions completely. Though, she supposes she can keep her moral agenda if the two of them worked things out themselves, and it was a logical solution seeing as both of them were enamoured for each other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>----</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” she says gently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey baby girl,” Derek manages.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You alright?” She asks, worrying for two of her boys at once was stressful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Worried about him,” Derek answers after only a minute of quiet contemplation and static through the phone line. “So yeah, getting worse.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“From the sounds of things Hotch was ready to arrest your unsub, you’ll be home soon,” she says positively. She knows she needs to get him over to Spencer’s apartment if they were ever going to work their feelings out for themselves. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do me a favour once you land tonight?” She asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anything for you, princess,” Derek says as usual. Penelope grins at the nickname and tries to picture how adoring his pet names will be for Spencer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should drop by Spencer’s,” she suggests.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, Pen -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, wait, hear me out!” She cuts his protest off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m staying the night because he’s getting sick, he needs some support and you always make him so bubbly, Der. Come on,” Penelope implores.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek sighs heavily, staying silent for a long minute.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did he ask for me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope bites her lip, looking back to the door where Spencer stood behind, still washing his face in the men’s room. She couldn’t exactly lie, but she knows Spencer only ever wants Derek when he’s struggling, so it wouldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>be a lie, per se.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He was just talking to me about you. He needs you Der.” There. She hasn’t lied. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” Derek relents.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” she smiles. “Good, he’ll be really happy to see you.” Wasn’t really a lie either.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>----</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>His throat feels horrible, and it hurts to speak for too long. When there’s a knock at the door, he assumes Penelope’s ordered in and waves it off for her to answer. He wasn’t really in the mood to cough up daisies on the poor delivery man.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Spence!” She calls after a few minutes of hushed conversation which he couldn’t be bothered to try and deconstruct from his position curled up on his couch, draped in a weighted blanket his mother had sent two years ago.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He considers yelling back but just the thought makes him tense up in pain. He gets up slowly, coughing and spitting a flower into his palm. He shuffles into the front room slowly and stops, freezing in place for a moment before doubling over, gasping for breath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek is standing in the entry space next to Penelope, watching him closely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>A rush of self-consciousness pulls at him where he stands, hands tucked into the sleeves of the sweatshirt Derek had lent him almost a month ago now, his feet in red and blue striped socks and cheeks red from the surprise visit of someone he’s been attempting to steer clear of for what feels like the </span>
  <em>
    <span>longest </span>
  </em>
  <span>time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Penelope?” he gasps out confused. “What - why - You </span>
  <em>
    <span>promised</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek looks to Penelope, who only glares at Spencer without real heat, nudging her chin towards Derek in show.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Spence,” she says carefully. “Derek wanted to make sure you were doing okay, didn’t you?” She turns to Derek, looking at him indicatively.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek doesn’t seem entirely capable of speech. He has his mouth clamped firmly shut, trying to clear his throat. He coughs, heavily, his body constricting with the force of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope screws her face up in concern, moving closer to Derek who’s now doubled over and touching the base of his neck with one hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>A pang of guilt hits Spencer in the gut as he stands helplessly, unable to do anything of use seeing as his own disease would only worsen if he reached out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spencer tries to say something, opening his mouth to speak - to reach out on an emotional level, to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>- but he can’t. He’s wracked with a debilitating coughing fit all the same. And then he feels it. Crawling up his throat, and he can’t run, Derek’s right there, and he can feel the soft, scratchy texture of the petal on the back of his tongue, Derek’s staring and he can’t move. He lifts his hand to catch it when he coughs but he’s too late. Derek can see as a perfectly formed daisy flies from his mouth and into his palm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Where Derek leans against the wall, he faces Spencer. His eyes are wide and bloodshot from his own coughing, and Penelope has one hand pressed to his shoulder, another cupping both of his hands which hold their own delicate, pastel yellow flower.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope’s hand is covered in a light spattering of red, and Spencer attempts to gain his bearings in time to catch the black seeds and yellow petals that Derek tucks away behind his back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Derek?” Spencer turns to him now. “What’s going on?” He thinks that maybe… but no. It couldn’t be. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I - I’m sick,” he says hoarsely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sick with what?” he asks slowly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whatever the hell you’ve got,” he laughs. There’s a distress to it, something longing and hurting deep in Derek’s core.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t have what I’ve got.” Spencer says bitterly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Open your hand,” Derek says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s small moments like these in which Spencer knows he was truly doomed to hanahaki, because without question, he shuffles forward and opens his hand obediently. The daisy sits in his palm, unfurling as he opens his fingers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek moves forward to meet him, outstretching his own palm. A much larger, bulkier flower sits plainly in his hand, its prickly leaves giving Spencer a horrid second-hand sensation of coughing up roots and petals. It’s a sunflower, which Spencer smiles at.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Adoration, loyalty and longevity. Greek for </span>
  <em>
    <span>Helios</span>
  </em>
  <span> - sun, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Anthos</span>
  </em>
  <span> - flower,” he explains.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek grins, looking down at both of their hands together. His own bright yellow flower sits stark against dark skin, and Spencer’s pale white petals stay flush against his own fair complexion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And yours?” Derek asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Innocence, purity, new beginnings. Old English for </span>
  <em>
    <span>dæġes</span>
  </em>
  <a href="https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/eage#Old_English"> <em><span>ēage</span></em></a>
  <span>, which means ‘the day's eye,’ because daisies open in the morning and close at night.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek smiles, and Spencer realizes he can speak without the pain he’d been expecting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why didn’t you tell me?” Derek asks softly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought it’d make you uncomfortable…” he answers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Penelope makes a small noise of amusement from behind them both, snapping them from their reverie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s what he said to me,” she says, gesturing to Derek. “You were both so caught up in making sure the other felt okay that you completely missed how head over heels you were for </span>
  <em>
    <span>each other</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just didn’t know, I mean, I thought, I--” Spencer starts but Derek cuts him off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I kiss you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I uh - I um, y - yeah, yes. Yes please.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek pulls him closer, kisses him deeply, and when he pulls away, just enough to let them both breathe, he gets his first full breath of air in weeks, sucking in the air greedily before kissing him again, hands moving to pull him closer, until Penelope clearing her throat loudly behinds them interrupts</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, should I leave? Or…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek laughs, still hoarse but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or care. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>----</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Der, can I turn the aircon on?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, go for it,” Derek yells back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spencer smiles as he turns up the temperature, pulling Derek’s sweater tighter around himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You keep this place too cold.” he complains, joining Derek on the couch, curling into his side. “I’m starting to think this is all just a conspiracy to get me into your arms.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, what if it is?” Derek hums, wrapping two arms around Spencer’s waist as he settles in comfortably. “You gonna say no to that, pretty boy?” He laughs, pressing his nose into the space beneath Spencer’s jaw.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spencer pulls a face, but it doesn’t stay long, broken by a smile as Derek holds him close.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t believe we were just friends two months ago,” Spencer mumbles. “Pretending to be, at least,” he corrects himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t believe you were going to have a life altering procedure without telling me.” Derek answers. It still scares him; how close they were to losing each other. He doesn’t know what he would have done if Spencer had shown up to work without any feelings, or potentially memories, for or about him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I won’t do it again.” Spencer shifts to place a kiss on his cheek before settling back against him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>----</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Mother,</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I hope you’re doing well. I finished the last book you recommended again; I think it was a good choice. I read some of it to Derek, and I do think he enjoyed it. He told me he didn’t mean to fall asleep. It reminds me of when you used to read to me. Although I was enraptured by the content, your voice still lulled me to sleep, as desperate as I was to stay awake for the story. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Derek seems to like when I read to him, he tells me I have a nice voice.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He has a beautiful voice of course. You’ve met him, I know, but I’m still looking forward to the two of you meeting again. Hotch finally gave us the time we asked for. We can visit you in June for a long weekend. I know you’ll like him as my partner, even if you already liked him as a friend. You’ve always been so intuitive with people I meet and whether they’re good for me.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>We went to Penelope after work today, she still takes credit for the two of us and I suppose she’s right. Still, I’m not sure how much longer she’ll make us pay for it in coffee and fashion makeovers. She’s taking me shopping on Sunday. JJ’s coming as the voice of reason, although she does tend to take Penelope’s side. They want to ask Derek his opinion and I hope he doesn’t tell them to buy me tighter slacks like last time, I like the give of my old pairs.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I hope things are going well for you, and again, I’m eagerly awaiting our visit next month. I think you and Derek will find common ground in your love for me.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Missing You,</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Spencer.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Tumblr is <a href="https://ag-ib.tumblr.com/">@ag-ib</a></p>
<p>my heart goes &lt;3&lt;3&lt;3 when anyone sends asks</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Tumblr is <a href="https://ag-ib.tumblr.com/">@ag-ib</a></p><p>my heart goes &lt;3&lt;3&lt;3 when anyone sends asks</p></blockquote></div></div>
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